


One Door Closes

by bees_stories



Category: Torchwood
Genre: AU, Starting Over, Torchwood's final days, jack introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:11:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a day Jack's been dreading. It's a day Jack's been anticipating. Torchwood Three is about to close, and he's about to take his final inspection tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Door Closes

***

"Andy."

"Boss." Former Torchwood operative, now UNIT Captain Andy Davidson saluted. "So this is it."

"Yeah." Jack returned the salute and then shook Andy's hand.

The moment grew awkward and they both had to clear their throats.

Visibly pulling himself back under control, Andy offered the fingerprint scanner and Jack pressed his thumb against the touch screen. There was an apology in Andy's eyes, but Jack bore him no malice, he'd become resigned to the ritual. For a few more hours he might be technically in command of Torchwood Three, but he had long since ceded his control. 

He walked through the now deserted office space, stripped of workstations and computers, and thought back to the the day they had declared it open for business. Jack had handed Gwen a bottle of champagne. She had looked at it with a quizzical expression.

_"Am I meant to open it or break it over the front door?"_

Ianto had suggested he do the honours, and although Jack knew he was perfectly capable of opening a bottle without spilling a drop, he had let the cork fly with a loud pop and a splash, and Gwen and Andy and all the rest had applauded. Torchwood Three was back and nothing or nobody was going to stand in their way. 

Those had been happy times.

He'd assembled good people picked from a wide variety of disciplines. Scientists and doctors to probe into the mysteries of the Rift. Investigators and enforcement officers to help protect the city from the occasional terrors it spit forth, and a multi-disciplined team of creative types to keep Torchwood out of the public eye, even when their operations went stampeding over the countryside, or aliens landed big as brass in the centre of Millennium Stadium.

Now they were all gone. Some to new postings. Some retired. Some dead, though proudly remembered. Myfanwy had found a new home. She would spend her remaining days in the care of a secret palaeontological research centre. It seemed odd to look up and not see the old girl circling overhead. 

When he emerged from the tunnel, the main body of the Hub was deserted and empty. Even the guts of the Rift Manipulator had been moved to a new, secure facility. The tower above would remain, a harmless water feature to be enjoyed by the people of Cardiff who never knew that the fabric of the universe could be torn open with a few authorisation codes from right beneath their feet. Keeping them in ignorance of the perils that surrounded them was part of Torchwood's mission statement.

Now that was someone else's job. 

He looked up at his former office but decided to save that for last, diverting instead down the corridor that would take him to the lower levels.

Jack ambled, lost in his thoughts. He had no set destination, but he was unsurprised to find himself outside the head archivist's office. His feet seemed to be leading him to familiar places, those that held fond memories. 

Ianto's office was still partially furnished. The shelves were empty of books and artefacts waiting to be classified. The contents of the file cases had been packed off to a UNIT warehouse weeks ago. The framed copy of the Torchwood charter was gone, and there was a faint outline of dust where it had hung on the wall. Ianto had claimed an antique desk lamp and the Persian carpet as mementos, although he had drawn the line at Jack's suggestion they take the Murphy bed, saying some things were best left to memory. He had caved in on the leather armchair, and now that took up a space in his new study. 

Although he made it all the way down to the subterranean hanger and spent a few happy minutes with his recollection of rebuilding spaceships and teaching members of his team how to fly them, the rest of Jack's tour was relatively brief. Ghosts were all ready filling the empty spaces, and he could hear snatches of their conversations and nearly feel their hands pushing him out of rooms where they had taken dominion.

With a sigh, Jack returned to the main body of the Hub and climbed the catwalk to his office. All the furniture and decorations had been moved, the request approved without any fuss. No one would miss an old desk set and a few filing cases, but they held memories Jack wasn't ready to let go of just yet. When Ianto found out he'd merely shaken his head without offering additional comment. 

There seemed little point, but Jack descended the ladder to his former boudoir. It too was empty. Darkness settled around him, the only illumination filtering down from the office above. It didn't matter. The space was as familiar to him as his own body. Jack leaned against the metal rungs and was nearly smothered by memories, some bad, some good, all of which he wished he could find a way to protect against the onslaught of time. 

Jack frowned at his maudlin turn of mind. He moved into the bunker after leadership of the Cardiff base had been thrust upon him. He'd been too afraid to live outside the Hub after he'd been left alone, and after he'd made the first, tentative steps towards rebuilding, he'd still been afraid. Inertia had turned a temporary move into a permanent one. He took one last backwards glance as he ascended and vowed he'd never, no matter what happened in the future, let himself do something so cowardly again.

As he cleared the manhole, Jack heard voices filtering upward from the main body of the Hub. He looked down and saw Ianto, dressed in his sharpest black suit, talking to a cadre of UNIT personnel. 

Ianto met his eyes and there was the faintest shifting of his expression, too subtle for any but Jack to interpret. _Was he all right?_

Jack gave a minute shake of his head in return. His boots clattered down the catwalk one last time. He paused for a second as the enormity of the situation hit him again, swallowed, and then with a lump in his throat that refused to diminish, he went to join the others. 

"Major Winslow." Jack snapped off a crisp salute. It felt odd. For the first time in decades, he was no longer a member of any military service. He would always be Captain Jack to his friends, but now it was nothing more than an honorary title. "I guess it's time." 

Ianto had the copy of the charter. He'd taken it out of its frame, rolled it carefully, and then tied it with a length of black silk ribbon. He handed it over and Jack felt his fingers tremble as he accepted the roll of parchment. 

He looked around the empty space and felt the weight of the ghosts. Silently, he urged them to find their peace. It was time for all of them to move on. Spine rigid, he extended the charter to Major Winslow. "Torchwood Three is yours." 

Winslow saluted and accepted the charter. It was a ceremonial act concluded; simultaneously fraught with importance and meaningless. Jack found his ability for small talk had deserted him. He couldn't think of a solitary thing to add. 

Ianto stuck out his hand. "Gentlemen." They shook all around. Months of negotiation and even more months of hard toil, sorting, packing, classifying (and in some cases) destroying technology had brought them there, now their work was done. 

"The Corporal will see you out," Major Winslow said.

Jack was conscious of Ianto at his side offering silent support as they made the final journey to the surface. He was grateful. When he'd been pressed into service he'd hated Torchwood. For decades, he'd endured his servitude. Eventually, he'd grown to accept and even love his responsibilities. Now, as he saluted Andy one final time, and the corporal shut the door behind them, he felt bereft. 

In silence, they walked a little while until they found a vantage point overlooking the bay. Ianto extended his arms and Jack took refuge in the embrace. "Better?" he asked softly. 

"Yeah. Thanks. I never was good at goodbyes."

Ianto gave him a funny smile and used his thumb to wipe tears away from Jack's eyes. He stepped out of the hug, but let Jack's arms linger around his waist as he turned to look out onto the water. "One door closes, yeah?"

Ianto was right. One protracted episode of his life had ended, but another one, one no less exciting, but considerably less dangerous was about to begin. "We're having dinner at your sister's tonight," Jack reminded Ianto with a singsong cadence and an impish smile.

That earned him a mock scowl. "You're sure I can't talk you into eloping?" 

Jack knew Ianto wasn't against a party to celebrate their civil partnership, as such, but his sister was determined to see her little brother off in grand style, and whilst that suited Jack just fine, she tended to ignore Ianto's preference for understated elegance. 

He reversed their positions, so that they were facing once more, leaned in, and gave his intended a very thorough kiss. "No way. If you're going to make an honest man of me, I want witnesses!" 

"There could be video," Ianto countered.

"I thought we were going to save that for the honeymoon." 

Ianto shook his head in an elaborate display of mock-dismay. "Incorrigible." 

Jack grinned, his melancholy at leaving Torchwood behind him burning off like mist in the sunlight as he caught the sparkle of amusement in Ianto's eyes.

end


End file.
